


I Want Candy

by AryaNoName (merrymegtargaryen)



Series: Westeros Academy [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, westeros academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/AryaNoName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he’s being honest with himself, Bran doesn’t know if he’s friends with the Reed siblings because he likes them or because they made it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want Candy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into ASoIaF/GoT fanfiction, so please be gentle! This was written as a gift for tumblr's youarethesentinels, who is amazing beyond words. I hope you like it, Thea! This is also part of my Westeros Academy universe, more of which will come later. Enjoy!

If he’s being honest with himself, Bran doesn’t know if he’s friends with the Reed siblings because he likes them or because they made it that way. They’ve certainly made it difficult for him to escape, pushing his wheelchair around campus and forcing him to accompany them everywhere they go—even if he doesn’t actually feel like going. Jojen has even charmed his service dog, Summer, and the animal is no help at all on the rare occasions Bran feels like putting up a fight.

He doesn’t mind, really, even if they’re a bit different from what he’s used to.

Well, okay, maybe they’re a lot different from what he’s used to.

They spend their weekends in the godswood behind the academy, petting Summer and avoiding the nasty groundskeeper, Sandor Clegane—more commonly known among students as the Hound. Sometimes Meera gets bored and climbs trees until her hair is tangled and her knees are skinned. Sometimes Jojen weaves wildflowers together and makes crowns for them. He teaches Bran, and the habit becomes infectious. Jojen has that effect on Bran.

One Friday, when Jojen is pushing Bran to their math class, Meera approaches them with a look of savage triumph on her face.

“I got some candy,” she says in an ecstatic whisper. 

Jojen smirks. “All right. Good stuff?”

“Good stuff,” she assures him. “Let’s save it for tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bran isn’t stupid. He knows she doesn’t mean candy. He just, well, doesn’t know what candy means. Headmaster Lannister doesn’t allow a number of things on campus, and Bran is just sheltered enough that the biggest thing doesn’t occur to him.

So when he sees Meera pull out a baggie and an unmistakably-shaped glass object (he grew up around Theon, for seven’s sake, of course he knows what a bowl looks like), his eyes go wide.

“That’s the, the candy?” he blurts in disbelief.

The Reeds laugh. 

“What, did you think it was actual candy?” Meera snorts as she packs the bowl.

“No,” he says, blushing fiercely. “I just thought it was, you know…” He tries to think of something that isn’t embarrassing but he can’t.

“Have you ever smoked, Bran?” Jojen asks in that way of his, as if he knows something Bran doesn’t. That’s usually the case. His lips curve in that not-quite-a-smirk of his, the one that makes him look like he’s up to no good.

“Theon does a lot,” Bran says, because this sounds like a better answer. “And Robb and Jon—smoke—with him sometimes.” He lowers his eyes. “But…I never…”

Meera releases a lazy cloud of smoke. “Oh, my sweet summer child,” she says in a pitying sort of voice, wisps of smoke still curling from her lips. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Jojen assures him, accepting the bowl and lighter. 

Bran looks from Meera, who has a smirk on her face, to Jojen, who is watching him the way he always does. As if Bran might do something strange and exciting any moment and Jojen doesn’t want to miss it.

He isn’t disappointed; Bran snatches the bowl out of his hands and lights it before Meera can finish asking him if he knows what he’s doing.

He releases the smoke a moment later. “I grew up with Theon,” he says, leaning back against his tree. “Of course I know what I’m doing.”

.

Meera has a playlist on her phone for just such occasions; they lean against the trees in the godswood and listen to some indie band that sounds like they wear a lot of plaid until the bowl is empty. There’s more in the baggie, but Meera says they’ll save it for another day.

Bran finds that it’s easier to talk about the things he keeps so carefully locked away in his head. He talks about the dreams he’s had since his accident, the ones Osha told him not to talk about at school. He talks about the three-eyed raven that he chases on working legs, the slingshot that he always aims and always misses at the creature. Jojen listens intently, weaving them both flower crowns, but Meera sinks into a heap on the grass and falls asleep.

“You know why you can’t kill it, don’t you?” Jojen says rather than asks, draping a flower crown over Summer’s head. The dog twitches an ear but otherwise does not move. “The raven is you.”

Jojen is always saying things like this. He’s into stuff like interpreting dreams and horoscopes and tarot cards—the kind of things that earn him the nickname Jojen Weed. Bran can’t exactly deny anymore that the nickname is an accurate one, but he doesn’t mind that Jojen is so…out there. Jojen is a nice deviation from the quite-grounded-in-reality-thank-you-very-much Stark family.

“How can I be the raven?” Bran asks. “I’m already, well, me. I can feel myself running. My legs are working again.”

Jojen gives him one of those smirks again. “Your legs only work in the dreams with the three-eyed raven, don’t they?”

Bran stares at him through glassy eyes. “I…well, yeah…”

“You have three eyes, too, Bran. You just have to open the third one and see.”

Bran giggles without quite knowing why. “I’m too high for this,” he declares.

Jojen leans forward. “You shut yourself off too easily. Your dreams are trying to tell you something. Listen to them.”

The smoke has loosened his tongue and his inhibitions, and Bran finds himself blurting out, “I’ve seen you in my dreams before.”

Jojen smiles that secretive smile of his. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

Bran blushes. “I…I can’t remember.”

Jojen scoots closer until he’s sitting next to Bran. “You don’t have to hide yourself from me, Bran,” he says quietly. 

Bran stares down at his lap and forces his mouth shut before he can blurt out anything else. He can hear Osha’s voice in his head, chiding him for talking so much.

“It’s me, Bran,” Jojen murmurs. He places two fingers under Bran’s chin and gently turns his face to look up at him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Bran doesn’t stop to think, just leans forward and presses his lips to Jojen’s. They are soft and sweet and everything and nothing like Bran imagined. 

They pull apart some minutes later, Jojen grinning and Bran redder than he’s ever been.

“Is that what happened in your dream?” Jojen murmurs, tracing patterns only he can see on Bran’s cheek.

Bran turns even redder. “Not exactly,” he mumbles. 

Jojen chuckles and presses one, two, three kisses along Bran’s jaw. 

“I go to sleep for a few minutes and look what happens.” Meera smirks at them through half-lidded eyes. She rolls onto her back and stretches languidly. “It’s about time, though.”

Bran could happily sink into the earth in his humiliation, but Jojen tangles their fingers together as if it is the most natural thing in the world. As if to remind Bran that there is nothing to be afraid of.

.

The Hound chases them out of the godswood some hours later with threats of expulsion and corporal punishment—threats they all know very well he won’t make good on. It doesn’t stop Jojen and Meera from running for their lives, pushing Bran wildly in front of them as they duck around trees and away from the Hound thundering after them.

It’s a lot different from what he’s used to.

But he thinks he’s starting to like it.


End file.
